The Final Stretch
by RascalJoy
Summary: Cato glanced at Clove. They were the last of the—dare he say—team that had started the Games out. Together, they could easily take out the remaining tributes. Except that would mean they would be left facing each other. And despite all his training, all of his experience, the thought of killing a District mate didn't sit as well in his stomach as he would have otherwise expected.


**Hello, everyone! First Hunger Games fic! Yay! :D**

**I actually wrote this a couple weeks ago as a collaboration between myself and a friend over iMessages, and finally got the nerve to publish it. I wrote this half from Cato's POV, then she came in and did Clove's. She is currently on a campaign with her mom to get her own fanfiction account, so hopefully you'll get to see her half sooner than later :)**

**Anyway, this is set just before the Game changing announcement of Claudius Templesmith in Hunger Games.**

**Enjoy!**

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Six tributes left. Cato counted them over and over in his mind, picturing their faces and imagining their features twisting in fear and horror as he killed them one by one. He smirked, poking idly at the flaming coals of the fire with the tip of his sword. He imagined the tributes were the coals, hissing and sparking as he poked and prodded them, turning them over and over until their light died as they lost their heat.

The girl from District Five was like a fox; cunning, sly, and swift, yet still easily caught in a properly hidden trap. The boy from District Eleven would be a little harder, what with his enormous strength and the fact that there hadn't been sight nor sound of him since the beginning of the Games. But Cato was sure that with a little effort, he could beat him without too much sweat. Lover Boy would surely die on his own within days—Cato was honestly unsure as to how he had survived so long already, but he knew where he cut him; that boy didn't stand a chance. Then there was Katniss Everdeen—one of the few tributes he'd even bothered to learn the name of.

He resisted the urge to snarl aloud; that girl was more trouble than he'd expected, especially since she'd gotten her hands on that bow. Her shooting must have been what had earned her that 11 in training and Cato was sure she was the one who had blown up all of their supplies. And for that, she would pay dearly. After all, she was just a little girl hiding behind a big bow; if Cato got close enough, she wouldn't stand a chance. That left just one more...

He glanced at his fellow Career—his fellow district tribute: Clove. They were the last of the—dare he say—team that had started the Games out. Which made it both easier, and harder for him: together, they could easily take out the remaining tributes. Except that would mean they would be left facing each other. And despite all his training, all of his experience, the thought of killing a District mate didn't sit as well in his stomach as he would have otherwise expected.

The thing is, he knew Clove. They had been at the same training academy, at the same time, in the same class. They had formed a mutual allegiance over the years, often pairing up for team activities and projects. Not that he would ever admit it, but maybe the honor and glory wasn't the only reason he had chosen to volunteer for that cowardly boy back in District Two.

Cato watched as Clove almost hypnotically sharpened her knives against a wet stone: _shink_, _shink_, _shink_, screeched the knives. Her somewhat stringy brown hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail, firelight dancing over her impassive expression.

Clove glanced up from her blade. Her deep brown eyes met his blue ones, her gaze cold and calculating, no emotion breaking across her features. He looked away, turning instead to watch the glowing white tip of his sword, slightly miffed that he had been caught staring. He mentally berated himself: the star-crossed lover act was already being played across the forest. He needed to get a grip, or he'd never be able to do what was necessary to finish these Games. And that included getting rid of Clove.

He silently hoped that she would be taken down by one of Twelve's arrows, or maybe have her head bashed in by Eleven. As long as it was quick, and mostly painless.

What was he thinking? He couldn't afford to harbor any feelings toward anyone, especially not a fellow tribute. They had known from the start that both of them wouldn't be able to walk away alive. And it's not like that was changing anytime soon.

"So," said Clove, almost causing Cato to jump in surprise. "Where do you think Lover Boy is?"

Cato shrugged, trying to beat down the slight guilt of Clove catching him off guard. "Dunno. I'm just surprised he's still alive. I practically hacked his leg off."

Clove grunted lightly.

There was a short silence.

"How 'bout Everdeen?" Clove asked.

Cato shrugged again, getting a little bit irritated that he wasn't able to give better answers. "Up in a tree somewhere, hiding like the coward she is. I bet Eleven is in the field, though," he said quickly, hoping to build his rep back up a notch. "There's nowhere else he can be."

Clove gave another grunt.

Another awkward silence, broken only by the clanging of Clove's blade and the crackling of the fire.

"Just us two left," Cato said, almost without thinking.

Clove stopped sharpening her knife altogether, looking up at him and quirking one eyebrow questioningly. "Excuse me?"

"Of the big districts," he clarified, trying not to squirm under her intense stare—why was it so hard to keep his cool around her? "Just us."

"Yep."

"I wonder who we're going to find next," Cato said, hoping to draw out this conversation for as long as possible, though he wasn't sure why. "It's only a matter of time before the Gamemakers drive us together again."

Clove nodded slowly. "I suppose so."

"Who do you think will win?" he said suddenly. He silently cursed as Clove stared at him, her eyes practically flashing in the flickering light.

The silence stretched on for what seemed like an eternity.

Clove opened her mouth, seemingly about to speak, when she was interrupted by Panem's national anthem blaring through hidden speakers, followed by a sudden trumpet fanfare. Both Cato and Clove sat up straighter in anticipation, straining their ears to hear every word as Claudius Templesmith's voice boomed throughout the arena, congratulating the six remaining tributes on surviving that far. Contact with the outside world was minimal to zero in the Arena; to hear anything at all from anyone out there definitely warranted attention.

"There has been a slight rule change," the famed announcer said, voice cloaked in mystery.

Cato had to raise an eyebrow. He hadn't even been aware there _were_ rules outside of no stepping off the pedestal for sixty seconds. And the fact that they were changing...this had to be good.

"From here on out, two victors can be crowned provided they are from the same district."

Cato's heart stopped. Had he just heard that right?

As if sensing his dilemma, Caesar repeated it again. Yes. Cato had heard right.

He and Clove slowly turned to face each other: Clove's brown eyes sparked with something unidentifiable. Cato fought the urge to grin like a little child, instead allowing his lips to curl up in a smirk. The only other pair was from Twelve. And with Lover Boy surely incapacitated, it was practically a straight shot to the finish for two ex-Peacekeepers-in-training. "You and me?"

Clove nodded slowly, a matching sadistic smile quirking up the corner of her lips. "Let's finish this."

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**So what do you think? Sloppy? Lacking detail? Let me know in a review! Guests, you too! Constructive criticism is accepted, and appreciated.**

**Btw, the reason why I figured Cato liked Clove (at least to some degree) was in that one scene in the book where she was dying from her skull getting bashed in, Cato was practically pleading with her to stay with him, choosing to stay there with her instead of chasing after an injured Katniss. So, yeah. Even psychopaths have feelings :)**

**Don't forget to review!**


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